


How Not to Summon A Demon

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Crowley is Summoned (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Gen, Post-Canon, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Crowley finds himself in a summoning circle surrounded by figures in black robes. Luckily for him, he's got an angel on his side...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 176
Collections: Trick-Or-Treat!





	How Not to Summon A Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful [ NaroMoreau ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau) for the beta!

Crowley hit the ground with a solid _thud_ , and squawked in surprise.

He felt pretty justified about that squawk. Especially considering that about half a second ago he had been comfortably in bed with a certain angel and not, as he appeared to be now, face-down on a cold marble floor in the center of a large summoning circle.

Groaning, he flopped himself over onto his back and peered around. 

All around the circle were figures in black robes. They were holding torches -- _real_ torches, the kind with actual _fire_ , which seemed a bit much to Crowley -- that cast all their faces into incredibly dramatic shadow. 

“I _really_ wish you hadn’t done that,” Crowley said, mildly. His voice echoed oddly in the large space. He guessed they might have been in a hall of some kind, maybe even a museum. Somewhere big enough that the paltry light from the flickering torches barely illuminated the ceiling far above them. “I was having a nice night before this, you know.”

One of the robed figures stepped forward, hesitantly. “Apologies, Master Crowley,” the figure said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “We did not intend to disturb your infernal preparations. Especially not in such an...undignified manner.”

 _Master?_ Crowley thought, wrinkling his brow. _Infernal Preparations?_ With some effort, he clambered to his feet. His silk night clothes slid annoyingly on the slick marble and he clicked his fingers together, more out of habit than expectation. To his surprise, they faded immediately away into the more usual skin-tight black denim and cotton.

“Did you not ward the circle properly?” he asked the figure at the front, who had flinched back slightly while Crowley had been climbing to his feet. “Bad idea, that. You can’t let a demon keep their powers in a summoning circle. Otherwise they’ll just do this.” He clicked his fingers again and the marble beneath him cracked right through, the flames from the candles flaring up around him. It was probably a bit over the top if he was honest, but no-one had ever accused Crowley of subtlety, and the frightened gasp that rose up from the humans around him made the whole thing more than worth it.

The front human, whom Crowley had decided to mentally dub _Fronty_ , was practically shaking now. “The circle was not warded, Master,” he said, voice faint, “We would not dare try to contain the likes of you!”

The flames died down as Crowely peered at Fronty, more than a little lost now. “What, really?”

“Of course!” Fronty exclaimed, seemingly relieved to have Crowley’s ear again, “We summoned you here in entreaty, Master, not for your imprisonment!” 

“Entreaty,” Crowley repeated, deadpan. “You want to...what, ask me for something? Also, quit it with the ‘master’ nonsense. Seriously, it’s annoying.”

Fronty bowed. “Of course, M-- er, Crowley. And yes. We have gathered to most humbly entreat you to lay a curse upon our enemies, that we may triumph in your name!”

Crowley didn’t bother trying to stop the eyeroll that elicited. “Listen, first, whatever you’ve been reading that’s made you think that’s the right way to talk to a demon, stop it, seriously. You’re embarrassing yourselves.” He sat down in midair, curling his legs up under himself and lounging slightly as though laid out on an invisible chaise. “Second of all, I’m assuming you’d know that nothing comes for free with demons. So what’s in it for me? And _don’t_ say you’ll dedicate your immortal souls to the service of Satan, that ship sailed a long time ago now.”

“No, Lord Crowley,” Fronty said excitedly, making Crowley groan, “We brought you something much better than our measly little souls. Bring her forward!” This last was directed behind him, through the throng of silent robed figures. After a few seconds they parted, revealing a young woman with her hands bound behind her back and a piece of fabric in her mouth. She was struggling viciously, kicking and writhing against the robed figures holding her elbows, and she only fought more when her eyes landed on Crowley within the broken circle.

Crowley immediately sat up from his lounging sprawl. “What the H-- what is this?” The girl was forced to her knees before the circle, the heavy hands of the figures around her keeping her shoulders down and her head bowed. She still managed to look up at Crowley, though, watching him with scared blue eyes. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Ice wouldn’t have melted in Fronty’s mouth. “This is our payment to you, Lord Crowley! A virgin sacrifice, an innocent, to fuel your infernal deeds! We do so hope you find her sufficient.” They bowed again, as did all the other robed figures.

Crowley was nearly apoplectic, but the fear shining out from the girl’s eyes kept telling him that exploding in his rage might cause more harm than good. He took a deep breath. Then he carefully lifted himself from his invisible sitting position, sauntered over to her, and squatted down. He wished he had thought to summon his glasses when she struggled again, trying to get away, the hands on her shoulders preventing her from moving an inch.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, not bothering to keep his voice down to where the cultists couldn’t hear him. “I mean, have they hurt you? Apart from the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing.”

The girl looked at him a moment, obviously confused, then shook her head hesitantly.

“Does our sacrifice meet your requirements, Lord Crowley?” Fronty asked. “If not, we could easily find another--”

“You _won’t_.” Crowley cut him off. He shot to his feet and stalked over to Fronty, who managed not to back away in fear despite very obviously wanting to. “Take off your hood.”

All the robed figures shifted slightly, murmuring. Crowley leaned forward. “ _Now._ ”

Fronty did so, shaking. He looked like he might faint at any moment. He was in his late twenties, maybe his early thirties, with flat brown hair that was plastered down the side of his face from sweating under the hood. His eyes were nervous. “Is there something wrong, Lord?”

“Something wrong?” Crowley mimicked, “No, not at all! What could possibly be wrong? You’ve only gone and kidnapped some poor innocent young woman in order to _sacrifice_ _her to a demon_. And for what? Revenge? A leg up at your local pub quiz?” He looked down at Fronty, jaw set.

“I-it’s a matter of critical political dynamics, actually, Lord,” Fronty managed through all the cowering he was doing. “The fate of our country is at stake.”

Crowley growled. “Oh, of _course_ it is. The fate of the _country’s_ at stake, so who gives a crap what happens to the little people, eh?” He spun suddenly away from Fronty and marched over to the young woman, removing the piece of cloth from her mouth with as much gentleness as he could manage. “What’s your name?” he asked her, softly. 

“Er -- Dana,” she answered, still looking confused. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. 

“Right. Dana.” Crowley turned back to Fronty. “You’d just sacrifice Dana here’s life for whatever stupid political game you’re playing. Is that right?”

Fronty shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I understand, Lord.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Crowley stared at him. “You do know what I have to do now, don’t you, front human?”

“Kill us?” Fronty asked, in a scared whimper.

Crowley scoffed. “Kill you? And get blood on my favourite jeans? I don’t think so. But I can’t just let you go, risk you trying to summon some other demon that’ll cause you _real_ trouble.” He looked around the little circle, jaw working. “No...I think I know just the thing.”

He pulled a mobile phone that had most definitely not been there a moment ago out of his pocket. His fingers flew over the screen for a few moments, typing something out, then he held the mobile out in front of him as though to show the assembled figures something on the dark, blank screen. 

A few seconds later the screen flashed a brilliant white and a form seemed to emerge from it, so bright it forced all onlookers (except Crowley) to avert their eyes. When they had all looked back, Aziraphale had appeared, looking rather ruffled.

Aziraphale cast a sharp gaze over Crowley, obviously looking for any signs of him being hurt. When he found none he turned to the humans, who were now all huddling together in fear. His eyes took in the hooded figures, the broken circle, and Dana, still bound on the marble, and he nodded. “Yes, you’re quite right, my dear,” he said, as though picking up a conversation they had just been having a moment before. “This is going to take a bit of work, I think.”

“Don’t be too hard on them, angel,” Crowley drawled.

“I shan’t.” Aziraphale clicked his fingers and all the cultists, including the ones at the back that had been inching towards the door in a desperate bid for freedom, were bound and gagged and propped up in what looked like old boarding school desks. They faced towards Aziraphale in neat little rows, hoods removed. “Though I must admit I doubt there’s such a thing as ‘too hard on them’ in this instance.” His eyes lingered on Dana, whose bonds had come undone with Aziraphale’s little miracle, and who was now rubbing at her wrists while looking between him and Crowley with wide eyes. “Are you alright, my dear?”

She nodded, apparently at a loss for words.

“Good. Crowley here will see you out, then. Mind how you go.” He turned back to the trapped summoners, blue eyes sharp as a blade. “As for you all...I think it was high time someone had a little conversation with you about _sin_. A wise man once wrote that sin was treating people as things, and I think that philosophy has a few interesting insights to lend to this situation...”

Crowley held his hand out to Dana as Aziraphale made his way into one of his treatises on the nature of goodness in the hearts of humanity. He was obviously enjoying his captive audience, putting on a full show of the thing, and Crowley smiled when he saw his ‘students’ really grasp what was about to happen to them. Or, perhaps more accurately, for _how long_ it was about to happen. 

Dana took his outstretched hand, tentatively. Now that he got a look at her, he thought she might have been even younger than twenty, though it was sometimes hard to tell with humans. 

“Are you really a demon?” she asked him. She seemed less scared now and more fascinated. Crowley supposed it was a win, even if it meant a blow to his ego. 

“I am.” he confirmed. “But like I said, I won’t hurt you. Now, where d’you live?”

She told him, and he whisked them away, leaving his summoners at the tender mercies of an angel.


End file.
